


The Perfect Soldier

by RavenclawAngel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Hurt Sam Wilson, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Mind Control, No character bashing, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Feels, The Raft Prison (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 09:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenclawAngel/pseuds/RavenclawAngel
Summary: Steve and the other ex-Avengers are on the run after the events of the Civil War, but when they are captured Steve has a choice to make and a very important promise to remember. Is he the perfect soldier, or a good man?





	1. Wakanda

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story because I am very curious as to what happened to the chair that Hydra used on Bucky during the Winter Soldier. I doubt the chair will appear again in the movies, but it's such a convenient plot device it seemed a shame just to forget about it. If you have any good stories to recommend to me regarding the chair and the shenanigans mind control can cause let me know in the comments. For now, enjoy.

                Wakanda summers put even the hottest days in Brooklyn to shame. Steve is pretty sure that the only thing that keeps him from heat stroke on his morning run was the super soldier serum. Still what it lacked in moderate temperature, Wakanda more than made up for in scenery. He could spend the rest of his life painting and still never capture all the splendid detail.

                The sound of footsteps pulls Steve from his musing. He glances over his shoulder and bows his head at the new arrival.

                “Your Highness,” he greets, and then goes back to looking out over the jungle. One of things Steve appreciates most about King T’Challa, and he has a whole list, is that the King truly knows how to admire a good view. For a few minutes they both just appreciate the nature surrounding them, breathing in the smell of the Earth.

                “How did your meeting go?” Steve finally asks. T’Challa sighs, as if not quite ready to break the peace with talks of politics.

                “Not well. Ross’s obsessiveness has only grown,” T’Challa says, “He has put out kill on sight orders for everyone who is not you. You, he has demanded be brought in alive.”

                “Is he worried that people may not respond well to the government gunning down Captain America?” Steve asks. His mouth twists into a wry smile. He hadn’t really been Captain America in months, if he had ever been him at all.

                “Perhaps that is part of it,” T’Challa says.

                “But not all of it?”

                “He has repeatedly mentioned the benefits of the serum, and has, on more than one occasion, expressed the belief that the serum is property of the US government.”

                Steve nods, not surprised, “Makes sense, can’t kill the only working sample of it.”

                They fall silent, both willing to let the warmth of the sun burn away the chill of politics for a few moments. A colorful bird takes off and flies above the treetops before disappearing back into the canopy. Looking at the jungle reminds Steve of just after he got the serum. When it fixed his colorblindness and for the first time he could truly see the red in Peggy’s hair and realized just how much depth of color he had been missing.

                This time it is T’Challa who breaks the silence.

                “When do you leave?”

                “By the end of the week,” Steve says and then turns so he can face T’Challa fully, “Thank you, for everything. For keeping Bucky safe and for letting us lay low here for a while.”

                “I owe a debt to Sergeant Barnes, and while I still believe in the Avengers needing accountability, the Accords as they are cannot stand,” T’Challa says honestly.  

                “Have there been talks of opening negotiations to add in safeguards?”

                “No, most countries consider the matter over with and have moved on to other problems.” T’Challa says and then smiles slightly, “as my father used to say, the problem with government is that it can never focus on one problem long enough to actually solve it before moving on to a new one.”

                “Nice to know some things never change then,” Steve says.

                T’Challa inclines his head in agreement.

                “Now, if you will excuse me Captain, I must be going, a King’s day is never done.”

                With that, King T’Challa sweeps gracefully down the hall. Steve watches with a slight smile. Over the past few months the King has truly grown into his role with impressive speed. Even without knowing the man, Steve is sure King T’Chaka would be proud.

                The quiet of the jungle feels less peaceful now as Steve sifts through the new information. Things aren’t going as well as he hoped. Despite everything, Steve still had believed that Tony would make good on his promise to add safeguards to the Accords, but either Tony didn’t care or didn’t have enough power to make those changes.

                Exhausted in a way that only happened when he thought too long about the Accords and the mess they were in Steve wanders back inside. He first considers going down to the medical facilities to visit Bucky again, but he doesn’t think he could take the nurses pitying stares or the doctor’s reassurances that Bucky was resting pain free.  Instead, Steve turns right down a hallway to the rooms the other ex-Avengers were staying. He stops at the first door. Inside he can hear Clint talking on the phone. Steve doesn’t interrupt. He can hear Wanda playing on the guitar without even needing to stop. She’s a long way from making anything that sounds recognizable, but she’s improving. Steve is proud at how well she’s been adjusting to everything. At the next room he can hear Scott’s snores and lets him rest. He finally comes to a stop at the second to last room, the one next to his own. The door is shut and the owner is quiet enough that Steve can’t readily discern what he’s doing in there. Steve knocks.

                Sam opens the door almost immediately. He takes one look at Steve’s face and steps aside for Steve to come in.

                “I saw that King T’Challa came back. Not good?” Sam asks, by way of greeting. Steve shrugs.

                “It could be worse.”

                “You always say that. We’re on the run because the government wants to arrest us. There’s not many ways it could be worse.” Sam says. Steve appreciates his bluntness. Not enough people in the world were blunt, in Steve’s opinion, which is a shame because it’s always been a trait that he liked.

                “Yeah, well now it’s changed from arrest to kill,” Steve says. Sam hardly looks surprised.

                “Not the first time the government has tried to kill us, you sure they aren’t secretly Hydra?” Sam asks.

                “If only it could be that simple,” Steve sighs. He looks around the room, ever the soldier Sam has kept what little he has in his duffle bag, ready to move out at a moment’s notice.

                “Good to see you’re packed. I hope the others are as well,” Steve says.

                “I never unpacked. But Steve, do you really think we should be moving out, especially if they just upped the stakes from arrest to kill?” Sam asks. It was a good point. Steve had stayed this long because he had hoped the hunt for them would die down with time, instead the search efforts had only gotten more frantic.

                “The longer we stay the more risky it is for King T’Challa. After everything he’s done for us, we can’t do that to him. Besides it’s safer we keep on the move.”

                “And Clint is positive that his contacts in Budapest are still good?” Sam asks.

                “They are.”

                “Budapest isn’t as scenic as Wakanda, just saying,” Sam says, giving Steve a lopsided grin. Steve rewards him with an honest chuckle and Sam counts that as a tiny victory. The day Sam sees Steve honestly laugh without restraint is the day he will call it a real victory.

                “I’ll see what travel agent Clint can come up with. I always thought Italy was a beautiful country last time I visited. Of course, last time I went, they were trying to kill us.” Steve shrugs.

                “So no difference, than if we go back now,” Sam says, and Steve feels the smile slip off his face. Once again he was fighting a war. He was beginning to wonder if there would ever be peace for him.

                Feeling the tension in the air, Sam frowns.

                “Sorry, I didn’t mean-“

                “It’s fine. No big deal. I have to go finish packing. Apparently my army training didn’t stick as well as yours did,” Steve says giving him a grin. It’s a tight too big smile that looks nothing like his real smile and they both know it, but Sam is tactful enough not to say anything. In the midst of everything Steve marvels at how lucky he is to have such good friends.

                Back in his room, Steve begins packing up the few shirts he’s gotten since settling down in Wakanda. Once he’s finished with that he moves on to the colored pencils and sketchbook laid out on his desk. He flips through the pages. There’s a lot of pictures of scenery. One of King T’Challa in his royal robes conversing with one his guards. Steve plans of giving that one to him before he leaves. There’s a few of his fellow ex-Avengers. There’s even one of Bucky, just before he went into cryo, looking more peaceful than Steve had seen him since before 1942. He flips to the first page of the sketchbook, where a sketch sits half finished. He had started this drawing before he had even heard of the Accords, and in all the excitement of saving Bucky and stopping Zemo he never had the chance to finish it. Even after all these months at Wakanda he could never bring himself to finish. The outline of Iron Man stares blankly up at him, lacking its usual flashy colors. Steve closes the book with a sigh and tosses it into his bag.  The pencils quickly follow.

                Packing completely Steve weighs the pros and cons of an afternoon nap. A knock on his door distracts him. It’s Clint and he looks grim. Steve lets him in and shuts the door behind him.

                “I just got a call from one of my sources.”

                “The Budapest source?”

                “No different one. How do you feel about stopping in Ethiopia before we head out?” Clint asks.

                “What, want to do a little sightseeing before we leave?” Steve jokes weakly. It falls flat, and he feels a foreboding feeling creep over him. Clint wouldn’t ask for no reason.

                “Human trafficking. My source just got wind of a big move of ‘cargo’ by the end of the week.” Clint says darkly. Steve sighs. It’s not the first time they’ve snuck out of their safe haven to take down some scumbag. In fact, they had done it so often that Steve was beginning to get concerned that someone would catch on about the remarkably improved crime rate in the countries around Wakanda. That was just another reason they needed to leave. Still, if Clint’s source was reliable, and they usually were, this was too big to just ignore.

                “Alright. Let the others know. I’ll talk to King T’Challa about the change of plans and transportation.” Steve says. Clint gives him a relieved smile, as if just for a moment, he doubted Steve would approve the mission. Then with a nod he disappears back down the hall. Steve gives his room one last once over before going off in search of King T’Challa.


	2. Deal with the Devil

                The city of Jima Ethiopia is large, hot, and crowded. Far different than the serene palace in Wakanda.

                “I have eyes on the mark.” Clint says over the comms. A man is walking down the street in a bad section of the city, with the confidence of someone who knows that nobody will challenge him. Steve feels an odd thrill at knowing how soon they are going to rectify that assumption for him.

                “Good, close in,” Steve says. From a rooftop Steve sees Sam take flight and a glow of red out of the corner of his eye tells him that Wanda has started to move as well. Like a well-oiled machine…no like a real team, they move forward as one unit.

                The man takes off. They pursue.

                “Hands in the air!”

                For a split second Steve thinks that it’s Clint who said it, which is crazy because Clint is on a roof and he didn’t hear it over his comms he heard it right behind him. He keeps his sights on the perp though, who looks remarkably calm about being cornered by a group of vigilantes.

                “On your knees, hands in the air!” The voice says again. The man doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem bothered. Steve risks a glance over his shoulder.  There are a dozen of armed men behind him. Soldiers. All of them with familiar blue helmets marked UN.

                “I’d do what he says Captain Rogers.”

                Steve turns back around to face the man. He’s holding a gun know, and a badge. It was a setup, a sting operation to catch the most wanted group of criminals in the world right now. Steve chances a glance at the roof he knows Clint is stationed at. He can see that Clint isn’t alone up there. Sam hovers in the air just above him. He could probably escape before anyone could get a clean shot at him. Steve wants to tell him to go, without tipping off the soldiers. Before he can think of a way to do it, Sam is landing next to him. Loyal to the last.

                “Mr. Lang, if you could join us,” Their former perp says, “I know your there, and I would hate for things to get unpleasant.”

                For a few tense seconds nothing happens, and Steve has hope that at least one of them will be getting away tonight. Then Ant-Man rapidly unshrinks and takes off his helmet, glaring at the soldiers.

                “This is new, I’ve never been arrested by soldiers before.” He says.

                “On your knees gentlemen, and lady.” He says. Everyone looks at Steve. His team, checking to see if he has a plan. The soldiers surrounding them wait patiently with a tense readiness about them. Steve knows that tenseness. These men will not hesitate to shoot. And right now, caught off guard with his team’s lives on the line Steve doesn’t have a plan.

                Steve slowly puts his hands behind his head and lowers himself to his knees. Scott and Sam do the same grim faced but compliant.

                “No! I won’t go back! I won’t let them put that _collar_ on me again,” Wanda snaps. Red glows from her hands and soldiers take aim. Wanda has been improving, and Steve will honestly say that when she’s on her game Wanda can easily take out more than her fair share of enemy combatants, but right now she’s not on her game. And even at her best 12 soldiers is a large order, especially if there are snipers on the roof, like Steve suspects.

                “Wanda, stand down!” Steve commands.

                The red glow dims slightly, but she doesn’t move.

                “I don’t want to go back.” She whispers.

                “I won’t let them put the shock collar on you. I promise,” Steve says, though he knows he technically is in no position to make that promise. He makes it anyway. If they try to collar her again, he’ll stop them. He’s not sure how yet, but he will.

                It’s a testament to her trust in him that after a few moments of indecision the red fades and she kneels besides the rest of them.

                Rough hands grab them, wrenching arms behind backs and placing them in cuffs. The collar comes out and Wanda’s eyes widen in terror as she looks at Steve.

                “No collar. You even attempt to put it on her and I won’t try to stop whatever she does,” Steve says firmly. The collar is put away and a gun is leveled at his head.

                “We won’t collar you for now, but you step out of line and we’ll blow his brains out,” The agent says. Steve meets Wanda’s eyes, forcing himself to show nothing but calmness and confidence. He doubts they will actually kill him, based on what T’Challa had told him about Ross’s obsession, but Wanda doesn’t know that. She takes a few deep breaths and nods. Unresisting, they are pulled into black cars. There is nothing about the cars to distinguish them as official UN vans, which is concerning. The lack of transparency reminds him uncomfortably of the Raft. He wonders if they will be sent there, considering how easily they broke out last time.

                They drive for hours, crammed into the back seats. Steve is not a small man, and neither are Sam, Scott, or Clint. Wanda ends up sitting partially on his lap, her head on his shoulder. On Steve’s other side Sam seems unable to remove his elbow from Steve’s ribs. The hot air only adds to the unpleasantness by making everything sticky.

                By the time the van rolls to a halt, Steve’s main thought is if they will let them have a shower before the interrogations start. They aren’t that lucky. They are separated and forced to change out of their uniforms into white sweatpants and shirts. Then they are placed in separate cells. Of which, the only redeeming feature is a sink. Steve lets cold water run over his hands and splashes over his face as he weighs his options. The others have already been arrested once because of him, he’s not letting that happen again.

                Their only real allies are Natasha who he hasn’t heard from in weeks and can’t possibly know about their situation yet and King T’Challa. Unfortunately, this is above even his head and Steve can’t let him risk any more than he already has for them. For him. It’s not the others Ross cares about it’s him and right now that’s the only hint of leverage he has. He’s just not sure what to do with it, or if it will be enough.

                Steve lies down on the small cot, but doesn’t sleep. He vaguely wonders if he’ll get a chance to speak to a lawyer before going in to talk to Ross. Based on what the others have said about their time incarcerated he doubts it.

                The next time the door opens there are a half dozen guards with automatic rifles standing in the doorway.

                “Hands above your head,” the lead guard commands. Steve complies. They bring him to a white room with lights that are too bright after being in his cell for so long, and handcuff him to the table.

                “Wait here,” The guard says as if Steve had a choice to do anything else.

                Fifteen minutes later Thaddeus Ross steps walks in looking dignified in a crisp suit. Steve can’t see his shoes, but he assumes they are well shined. In comparison Steve is in his white prison outfit, sporting a serious case of helmet hair from his mask, and hasn’t showered since before the mission. Ross looks him over, wrinkling his nose in vague disgust.

                Nevertheless he takes a seat across from Steve.

                “Captain Rogers. You are hereby arrested under the authorization of the United Nations.”

                Steve says nothing.

                “You will come quietly, face a military tribunal, where you will plead guilty to all charges and accept your punishment. Is that clear?”

                Steve is silent for a few moments, choosing his words carefully, “What if I don’t? Plead guilty, that is?”

                “You want to argue that you are innocent? All the evidence we have and you still want to argue that you did nothing wrong?” Ross laughs.

                Steve shrugs, “I want a trial, not a military tribunal, which technically you can’t give me. I haven’t been in the army for over 70 years and I never reenlisted with them when I got out of the ice. Now I want a trial, so the world can see exactly how you treated us. And we’ll let the court of public opinion decide. I’ve kept up on American news during my exile and I’m not nearly as hated as you want to pretend.”

                Ross seethes, “This is ridiculous. You would do nothing, but waste the taxpayer money.”

                “And possibly expose some less pleasant aspects of the government. Tell me, how much taxpayer money did it cost to build the Raft? Maybe that will come out in trial.” Steve says.

                “I can deny you the right to a trial,” Ross sneers and Steve raises an eyebrow.

                Really, because my lawyer won’t like that,” Steve says.

                “You don’t have a lawyer.”

                “I may not be as rich as Stark, but I assure you I can afford a lawyer and I’ll hire whoever I have to, to make this the most well publicized trial of the century.”

                “I would have thought you wouldn’t want the whole world watching as your nation declares you a traitor and a disgrace.”

                Steve shrugs, “I’m not particularly looking forward to it, but transparency in the government is important, and I think the public will be interested in the things I have to say.”

                Ross leans back in his chair and looks at Steve contemplatively.

                “You want something. What is it?”

                “The release of the others, without charges.”

                “No,” Ross says shortly.

                “Why not?” Steve asks.

                “Because they are criminals and criminals deserve punishment,” Ross snaps.

                Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes.

                “They aren’t anything special,” Steve says and hates himself a little for saying it, “I’m the one you want; leader of the Avengers, Captain America, the world’s only super soldier.”

                Ross looks unmoved, but there’s a greedy gleam in his eye. Steve swallows a wave of disgust and keeps going.

                “What do you get out of keeping them here? Nothing. Let them go and force them into an early retirement. Do that and I won’t kick up a fuss.” Steve says.

                “Rogers, do you even know how to do anything without creating a fuss?” Ross asks dryly.

                “I’m a fast study,” Steve says wryly before turning serious again, “let them go and I’ll surrender. I’ll have the military tribunal and admit to any crime you want to accuse me of. No lawyers, no public scrutiny, no fuss.”

                “I’ll consider it.” Ross says. He stands up, “but for now you’ve wasted enough of my morning.”

                He leaves and Steve is left alone, wondering if he managed to do any good at all.

 


	3. Prison

                For three days Steve is left alone in his cell. His only company are the guards that deliver his meals twice a day. They ignore any question Steve asks about his teammates or Ross, much to Steve’s frustration.

                Just as he begins trying to think of a possible plan B, Ross comes back into his life. Instead of meeting into the interrogation room, Ross meets him right in his cell. He looks as immaculate and smug as ever and Steve wants to punch the smirk off his face, but decides to wait to see if Ross has anything useful to say first. For his part, Ross skips the niceties and gets straight to business.

                “After discussing it at length the United States accepts your terms. You will be transported back to the US for your tribunal immediately.”

                “And my team?” Steve asks.

                “They will be released.” Ross says, “but watched.”

                “I want to see them walk out of here with my own eyes before I go anywhere peacefully,” Steve says.

                “Captain Rogers, one gets the impression that you don’t trust the Unites States government to hold up their end of a bargain.” Ross says.

                “I don’t.” Steve says. Ross doesn’t look offended at the slight against his nation and employer.

                “We’ll arrange it.” Ross says.

                Less than an hour later Steve is standing in a courtyard. The sun is pounding down overhead, but a nice breeze wafts through his hair. It’s a welcome change from his cell and he tries to enjoy the moment despite the guards surrounding him. He doubts he will get many more like it.

                One by one he watches as his teammates are led out. He mentally assesses them for injuries as they walk out. Wanda is, thankfully, collarless. Clint has the remnants of a black eye, but other than that everyone looks relatively healthy given the circumstances. Each of them freeze when they see Steve surrounded by so many guards. Sam makes a move towards Steve and a dozen guns are immediately pointed in his direction.

                “I wouldn’t make a move Mr. Wilson,” Ross says from the only shady spot in the yard, “You are being released today. You wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

                “Released?” Sam and Clint share a suspicious look. Wanda and Scott don’t look particularly convinced either.

                  “Yes congratulations. I wouldn’t waste your second chance at freedom,” Ross says, and at his nods the soldiers step away from the newly freed ex-Avengers.

                Clint narrows his eyes, when he sees that none of the soldiers surrounding Steve have moved.

                “You coming Cap?” Clint asks, keeping his tone light, but everyone can hear the threatening undertone anyway.

                “Captain Rogers, has surrendered to the United States for prosecution, in exchange for your release,” Ross says. There’s a moment of silence as the others let that sink in. Then there’s a chorus of yelling. Sam is yelling at Steve. Steve’s pretty sure he’s being called an idiot, but he can’t really hear because Sam’s voice is mingling with Clint, Scott, and Wanda. They are shouting at the guards and a Ross, arguing for Steve’s freedom, and Steve can’t help but to smile slightly at that. Ross is getting angry though and Steve can’t let them argue themselves out of freedom.

                “Guys,” he says firmly. They instantly quiet down, but Steve can see by the way they glare at Ross, and him that doesn’t mean they are willing to be persuaded. Steve clears his throat.

                “Guys please. Let me do this. I got you into this mess, the least I can do is get you out of it.”

                “Shut up Rogers. We made our own choices,” Clint snaps.

                “What good does all of us getting arrested do? Besides you all have other responsibilities in your lives besides me,” Steve says. He gives them all a pointed look, particularly Clint and Scott.

                “Come on guys, please don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Steve says imploringly. It is almost begging. The others avoid his eyes, almost guiltily. None of them have ever heard Steve beg before. It’s humbling and painful to see their captain sound so desperate. The silence is uncomfortably tense and Steve opens his mouth to beg more, but Clint cuts him off.

                “Alright,” Clint says tightly, like he’s forcing the words out despite every fiber of his being wanting to continue arguing. Scott and Wanda look back and forth between Clint and Steve. They don’t voice any dissent.

                “No, not alright,” Sam says. Steve feels a rush of affection towards him. Loyal to the end, like Bucky. Steve used to wonder how he got so lucky to have Bucky as a friend. Now he wonders the same thing with Sam.

                “Sam. There’s nothing we can do here. They won this one,” Clint says pointedly. Sam wavers. He and Clint share a long look, before Sam deflates.

                “This isn’t over,” Sam says darkly.

                “For you gentlemen, and lady, it is,” Ross says, “you will be escorted back to the US, and kept under surveillance until the government is satisfied that your loyalty lies with your country and not Steve Rogers.”

                The guards are kind enough to let Steve watch them leave. The others are loaded into the same black van that brought them here, now with slightly more space at the absence of one companion, and drive away. As soon as the van is out of sight Steve is hauled back inside. He doesn’t resist, it would be all too easy for Ross to call the van back.

Steve’s next visitor is a complete surprise to Steve, though in retrospect he’s not sure why he was shocked to see Tony Stark at his door. He’s leaning against the door frame, like Steve has seen him do so many times before in his lab, and he’s looking at Steve the same way he looks at a problem he just can’t quite get a handle on. Steve looks him over. Tony looks tired, whether it’s from jetlag or having to deal with Ross, Steve isn’t sure. He’s in a suit, though the heat has made him ditch his suit jacket. His sunglasses hang from the front of his shirt.

“So Ross told me about your deal,” Tony says, once they are both done looking the other one over.

                “That’s nice,” Steve says, unsure of what to say.

                “Agreeing to plead guilty so easily was dumb,” Tony says, “you don’t even know what all the charges are against you.”

                “I’m probably guilty of at least some of the things they are accusing me of,” Steve shrugs.

                “You do realize that treason isn’t off the table and that’s a death penalty charge,” Tony says, the worry in his voice clear. Tony gives a slight cough, trying to recapture the casual air about him that he usually has no problem pulling off.  

                Steve gives him a slight smile, “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve given my life to the whims of my country.

                “Oh yes, ever the perfect soldier,” Tony snarks, worry making him sound bitterer then he means to. The smile slides off Steve’s face. A perfect soldier? Doctor Erskine’s words from long ago echo in his head. _Not a perfect soldier, but a good man._ What if he was neither? Steve looks down at his wrists. He had been in handcuffs not long ago. What would the good Doctor think of him if he could see him now?

                “Did you really come all this way to gloat?” Steve asks dully.

                “No, I came all this way to save your ass,” Tony says sounding a bit smug, “I can convince Ross to let you go. I know it. I might have to throw in some Stark Tech that didn’t want to do, but you’re worth it. All you have to do is sign.”

                Steve looks at him. Tony is grinning, the excitable grin he always wears when he’s done something brilliant. It’s Steve’s favorite smile on Tony, and not just because it makes him look stunningly like Howard.

                “I’m sorry Tony, I can’t do that,” Steve says softly. He’s not sure if he’s a good man or not. Or if Doctor Erskine would approve, but he still remembers why Doctor Erskine was in the US and not his native country of Germany. He couldn’t sign the accords, not when he read them and found gaping loopholes. Loopholes that people in power could use against innocent people. The Nazis had been great at using things like loopholes and propaganda to get what they wanted.

                “Why not?” Tony asks, disappointment practically oozes out of him. He’s no longer smiling.

                “I guess I’m not a perfect soldier after all.” Steve says.

                “That’s not an answer. Why not?” Tony asks.

                 “Because I’m not going to support something that hurts people,” Steve says, “you can take off the suit and stop being Iron Man. Others aren’t so lucky. I can’t just get rid of the serum. Wanda can’t turn off her powers. People like me and her can’t retire, not really. The government wants to round up enhanced individuals and right now it’s just so they can put them on a list, but that’s how these things always start. First, it’s just a list. Then they lose certain rights, always for the “safety of general public” of course, but then it ends in camps. It always ends in camps. I’ve seen this before.”

                “That can’t happen here,” Tony says sharply.

                “Yes it can. It has. Whether it’s concentration camps in Germany or internment camps in the US, things like this happen when people in power don’t take the time to safeguard the rights of individuals.’ Steve says.

                “Then we will add the safeguards.”

                “That’s what you said months ago…but I’ve been following the news while in hiding and no country is interested in modifying them now that they’ve been signed.”

                Tony’s silence speaks for him.

                “I’m sorry Tony. I’m willing to take my punishment for not signing, but I’m not willing to sign my, or others, rights away,” Steve says sincerely.

                “Fine. You’re a big boy, you can make your own decisions.” Tony says, his tone brisk and overly formal. Steve knows he’s hurting, knows he really believed that Steve would sign them this time.

                “So where’s your bestest buddy? He wasn’t with the rest of the merry gang when you guys got yourself arrested.”

                “He’s someplace safe,” Steve says shortly. This is a conversation he doesn’t want to have.

                “He’s not the one who needs protecting,” Tony says harshly.

                “If it makes you feel better he’s someplace where he can’t hurt anyone either,” Steve says.

                “It doesn’t,” Tony says bitterly. Steve nods, he didn’t think it would.

                “I’m sorry. For not telling you about your parents.” Steve says.

                “I know you are,” Tony says. Now Tony sounds as tired as he looks. Steve can’t help but to notice that it wasn’t forgiveness.

                “You should probably go. I’m sure you have better things to do than to talk to a prisoner,” Steve says.

                “Yeah. Ross already texted me a dozen times,” Tony says, some of his old flare returning as they leave the topic of Bucky behind.

                “If you change your mind about signing, tell the guards to come get me,” Tony says. They both know Steve won’t change his mind.

                “Sure Tony,” Steve says, and watches him stroll out.


	4. Military Tribunal

             It’s not the first time Steve has witnessed a military tribunal, although it is the first time he stands as the accused at one. He had been prepared to face one after rescuing Bucky in 1943, and he has to do a lot of soul searching to find that same level of dedication now. He’s tired in a way he wasn’t in 1943. Constant fighting has made him feel older than he is, and he knows he’s pretty old.

             Like in civilian trials he and his lawyer sit on one side while the prosecution sits on the other. Steve looks at the rows of seats behind his table as he is led into the room. Normally that is where his supporters would sit. His side is empty. On the side of the prosecution Ross and Tony sit in the back two seats. Ross gives him a smug smile. Tony doesn’t even look at him.

             At least he had been allowed to wear his dress uniform for the occasion. His numerous medals, including his purple heart awarded posthumously, clink impressively. The judge sits high on the bench. He surveys Steve over his glasses.

             Steve’s lawyer leans over to speak to Steve quietly.

             “Are you sure you want to plead guilty of all charges. I really believe we can make a compelling case in your defense given the circumstances.”

             Steve gives the woman a smile. He likes his lawyer. She’s tough and from the moment she had walked into Steve’s cell to introduce herself she had been filled with a fiery passion to fight for his freedom. She had been quite disappointed to find out Steve planned to plead guilty and had spent half the night going over case law with him in an effort to show that he had a very winnable case. Steve didn’t tell her about his and Ross’s deal. He had a feeling it wasn’t strictly legal.

             “Ms. Rosenthal, I really appreciate all that you’re doing for me, but I am going to plead guilty,” he whispers back.

             “May I at least make a case against the death penalty for you and save your life,” she whispers back, snappishly.

             “I’d like that,” Steve says, though he doubts he’ll get the death penalty with or without her statement. Ross wants him alive.

             The judge clears his throat, “Would counsel like to begin.”

             “Yes, Your Honor,” The man prosecuting Steve’s case was clearly one Ross had handpicked. He is young, ambitious, and being the one to prosecute Captain America would be just the thing his career needs. He too is dressed in uniform, an impressive array of medals on his chest, given his young age. “We the people are charging Captain Rogers with three counts of violating the Accords, one count of illegally entering a foreign country, two count of aiding and abetting the terrorist known as the Winter Soldier, and most severely one count of treason.”

             The judge nods, “and defense, how do you plead?”

             Ms. Rosenthal stands up. She has a commanding dignity about her that reminds Steve of Peggy.

             “After speaking with my client, he has informed me, against my advisement, that he pleads guilty to all charges,” she says, “I would at this time enter his guilty plea for the court and advocate against the death penalty for my client. Given his long history of going above and beyond for his country and the still controversial nature of the Accords I believe it would be a miscarriage of justice to sentence him to death.”

             “The defendant’s history here only makes the charge of treason more appalling. This is a man that the whole country put their trust and faith in. The people are requesting that in light of the fact that he is not even protesting his innocence, he be held accountable for his actions and charged to the highest extent of the law.”

             The judge nods thoughtfully and shifts through his notes. He stalls as he thinks about what he plans to say next.

             “Captain Rogers I hope you understand the severity of your crimes. You may believe that given your past record of exemplary service you are above the law. I admit that I never would have expected this type of behavior from Captain America.”

             Steve has to fight to keep his face schooled into a respectfully neutral face. Apparently nobody had informed this judge that his first mission had been a court martial offense. The judge also had no idea of all the trouble the Howling Commandos had caused Colonel Phillips. The old man had always censored himself when writing up his reports to his superiors. He claimed it was because he didn’t want the brass knowing what a troublemaker their golden boy was until after the war. Steve knew that secretly Phillips had a soft spot for him and the boys. Steve’s amusement fades as the judge continues.

             “Given that this is your first offense and the lack of lives loss, I believe the death penalty to be too severe. You are stripped of your rank and title of Captain and sentenced to life at the Raft.”

              And just like that, the case, and his freedom, are over. A life sentence is what he expected when he thought about it, but some hidden part of him had hoped that despite his guilty plea everything would just work out.

             There is a soft click as handcuffs are fastened around his wrists. He’s led out, surrounded by guards. Ross follows behind and Steve can practically feel his eyes boring into the back of his head. He tries not to imagine the look of triumph on Ross’s face.

             The Raft looks exactly like it did the last time he was there. Steve expects to be led to the same cells Sam and the others were held in when they were prisoners, but instead he is led downwards. The deeper they go, the colder it gets until there is a distinct damp chill in the air. Steve hopes this isn’t going to be where his cell is.

             The first stop is not his cell, but the medical unit. The moment they enter the room and close the big metal doors behind them warmth washes over Steve. An enthusiastic doctor shakes his hand and proceeds to talk at him rather than to him. From what Steve can gather, the man is ecstatic to be in the presence of the super soldier serum.

             “Full physical,” The doctor says. The doctor tests his heart, lungs, blood pressure, and reflexes.  Then the full physical goes beyond what Steve would consider a normal physical to include an MRI scan and a spinal tap, which is painful, not that anyone notices Steve’s discomfort.

             The doctor also collects multiple samples of Steve’s DNA, much to Steve’s displeasure.

             “Is that really necessary?” Steve asks as the doctor fills a third vial with blood.

             “This blood is the holy grail in medical science. Do you have any idea of what we can do with it, once we unlock the secrets of the serum?” The doctor asks, getting a forth vial ready. Steve opens his mouth for a sarcastic retort, but the doctor cuts him off, “of course you don’t.”

             Steve forces himself to sit in silence for the rest of the exam. Finally after being poked and prodded like a lab experiment the doctor declares himself satisfied for the moment and allows the guards to take Steve away. As they begin climbing the stair Steve wonders what he can expect next. He quietly prays that it’s his cell as the tired stiffness of a long emotional day settles in his bones.

             The guards drop him off in his cell without ceremony. As far as Steve can tell he is the only prisoner on the cellblock. Two guards take up positions on either end of the hall. Neither is particularly close to Steve’s cell, which is situated somewhere in the middle of the long hallway. Steve wonders if that was purposeful, before deciding he doesn’t really care. He throws himself onto the mattress and promises to reassess the situation after some sleep.

             The next morning Steve is pulled from his sleep by the strong feeling of being watched. A figure stands on the other side of his cell. Steve blinks a few times. The figure remains.

             “What do you want?” Steve asks, not even bothering to sit up.

             “I came to check on the Raft’s newest occupant.” Ross says, “Enjoying your stay?”

             “Well room service sucks, but besides that it’s not so bad,” Steve shrugs.

             Ross gives him a cold thin smile.

             “I’m glad you’ve kept your sense of humor, if nothing else.”

             Steve doesn’t even bother to respond. He half hopes that if he ignores him Ross will disappear, but he knows that Ross isn’t going anywhere until he finishes gloating.

             “I used to admire you, you know,” Ross continues.

             Steve raises an eyebrow at that.

             “Don’t let it go to your head, but Captain America was the reason I first joined the army,” Ross says.

              “My mistake” Steve quips sarcastically, taking a special pleasure in Ross’s glare.

             “Every soldier who went through boot camp was compared to Captain America; The world’s only perfect soldier,” Ross says, his voice taking on a nostalgic sway as he recounts his boot camp experience in the shadow of Captain America.

             As he talks Doctor Erksime’s words drift back to Steve. _Not a perfect soldier…_

             “I was never a perfect soldier,” Steve says abruptly, interrupting Ross’s monologue about the time he got chewed out by his staff sergeant for a prank gone wrong. The phrase “What would Captain America do?” was apparently used liberally.

             “No,” Ross agrees solemnly, looking almost disappointed, “but you could have been. You _should_ have been. You received a gift and you squandered it.”

             “Doctor Erksime never wanted to create the perfect soldier,” Steve says.

             “Clearly, otherwise they would have chosen someone who knows how to follow orders, and the value of military hierarchy.”

             Steve doesn’t bother to answer. He’s not sure what exactly makes someone the perfect the soldier, but he’s pretty sure it’s not that.

             “Ironic, where the US government failed, Hydra succeeded.” Ross says.

             Steve tenses. He wouldn’t have pegged Ross as Hydra; he always been too much of a straightforward soldier. Being Hydra required a level of stealth and underhandedness that was more spy than soldier.  However, this wouldn’t be the first time he was wrong about something like this.

             “Oh calm down. I’m not Hydra. I’m merely impressed that they managed to create the perfect soldier.” Ross says.

              “What do you mean by that?” Steve asks harshly, a sick feeling forming in his stomach.

             “The Winter Soldier; highly trained, never complained, and above all he obeyed commands without hesitation.”

             “He was tortured and brainwashed,” Steve snaps and in an instant he’s standing and across the tiny cell. Ross has no idea what he’s talking about and Steve longs to slap the smirk off his face, but he can’t. So he settles for pounding his fist on the glass between them. It’s not nearly as satisfying.

             “He was molded into the perfect soldier, and the red book we found on Zemo when we brought him in told us exactly how to do it,” Ross says and there’s an uncomfortable gleam in his eye, “Are you ready to be a perfect soldier Rogers?”


	5. Freedom

          Hours later Steve is sitting on his cot, staring at his hands. Ross’s words roll around in his head, still as incomprehensible as they were the first time Steve heard them.  Steve would like to think that his government would never do something as despicable as mold a man into their own personal weapon, but he knew better. He had known better since the forties. Isn’t that what the serum had done to him; took a man who had no business being a soldier and turned him into one of the greatest soldiers in history.

          But at least that time he had given his consent. Memories of Bucky’s blank face and cold eyes float through his mind. The complete unrecognition in his voice when he asked who Bucky was, still made the occasional appearance in Steve’s nightmares. That could be him. Would be him tomorrow if Ross had his way.

          Steve has killed before, both during the war and in the 21st century with the Avengers, but every death had been his choice. The idea of losing the ability to make that choice scared him more than any battle ever had. He couldn’t lose that. Not only because the mere thought of it sent waves of terror down his spine, but also because Steve isn’t ignorant to the damage he can do. The others, with the possible exception on Thor who is in a similar position, don’t realize just how much he has to hold back in the average fight. He had learned early that punches meant to knock people out could easily be fatal if he didn’t carefully monitor the force put into it. Let him loose and unrestrained on a group of soldiers…Steve knew he wasn’t being arrogant when thought about how easily he could tear them apart. Letting him loose on a civilian would be even worse.

          Images of blood and empty eyes staring past him fill his mind. Of young men in blood drenched uniform and civilians of all ages with their faces crushed or throats slit. Steve wonders if this is what Bucky sees when he closes his eyes.

          Steve stands up. There’s no question; he cannot let himself be turned into Ross’s weapon. He’s getting out. Tonight.

          A plan. He needs a plan. Obviously step one of the plan is “leave cell.” The easiest way to do that is when the door is open, which will happen the guards deliver food or decide to move him next. The guards have been careful not to get too close to him or give him an opening. But then again, Steve hadn’t been trying to escape before. He looks around the Spartan cell for anything that might be useful. Besides the cot, there wasn’t much, not even a mirror. He stares at the cot for a moment before reaching out and patting it lightly. Underneath his hand he can feel the springs coiled under the thin layer of padding. An idea begins to form.

          The guard carries down a tray; on it is a plate of steak and potatoes, and a water bottle. In his opinion as far as prison food goes it’s not half bad. Rogers has nothing to complain about, men have gotten worse punishments for less.

          “Dinner. Back away from the door.” The guard says and then glances up through the bars. The tray slips through his fingers.

          Blood. It’s everywhere. It’s smeared on the glass door, all over the floor and worst of all drips from the cuts along Rogers’s arms. The cot is torn up, like someone ripped it to shreds. One of the metal coils has been straightened, its jagged edge is painted with blood. Rogers lays in the middle of it all, unmoving. Of everything he expected to see, this was the last thing. Captain America commit suicide? The man was many things, but a quitter wasn’t one of them. Still, Rogers hadn’t even flinched when he dropped the tray.

          The guard hurriedly opens the door to get a better look. Cautiously he bends over Rogers’s prone body. The man looks especially pale under the bright red blood. This is way above his paygrade. He grabs his radio to call it in.

          A bloody hand is around his wrist before he can even make it. Blue eyes look back at him, clear and full of life. The guard has just enough time to think _Dammit Rogers_ before his face is intimately acquainted with the man’s fist. The guard collapses in a heap and Steve springs to his feet. The shallow cuts in his arms sting, but are already beginning to scab over. The guard, like most people, severely underestimated how much blood Steve can safely lose.

          Steve grabs the guard’s radio and crushes it. Then, after a brief moment of hesitation, he grabs the man’s gun. He prays he won’t be forced to use it. Steve steps out of the cell. Stage one of the plan complete.

          Stage two of the plan is “Leave facility.” Steve isn’t a hundred percent sure of how to get out, but he knows his best bet is up. The guards at the ends of the hall are already running towards them, and Steve feels the same thrill he always feels at the beginning of a fight. A thrill he can remember back in the thirties when a good fight meant a black eye behind the theater.

          Both men fall quickly and the gun remains firmly tucked in his waistband. He pounds up the stairs as more guards come storming down. The tight space works to Steve’s advantage, as none of the guards risk firing their gun for fear of hitting one of their own. He plows through the guards, tossing them easily out of his way. He punches one guard and the man’s head cracks against the wall. He slides to the ground, leaving a trail of blood. Steve grimaces. Too hard. He has to pull back before he kills someone.

          Once at the top of the steps the Raft becomes a bit more familiar. The helipad isn’t far. He takes off down the hall. Sirens are blaring now, and more guards are pouring into the hallway.  He throws the closest guard into a crowd of them and makes a break for the door at the end of the hallway. The raft is in chaos, and in some small corner of his brain that isn’t focused on escape, he tsks in disapproval at the lack of organization in the event of an escape attempt. 

          The door to the helipad is guarded, but thankfully open. The fight is brutal but quick. They hadn’t expected him up the stairs so quickly, and both guards fell before they realized they were under attack. He slams the door behind him and locks it. That will spare him a few minutes at least. The room is deserted, apparently in the commotion none of the guards had stayed behind to guard his most likely point of exit. He spares a second to shake his head at the level of unprofessionalism on display.

          Steve makes his way over one of the helicopters. He’s almost there.

          “Don’t move. I’ll…I’ll shoot!”

          Slowly Steve turns around. An agent stands firm, loaded gun in his hand, which impressively doesn’t waver. His eyes are practically begging Steve to not move, to not make him use the gun. He looks young. The gawkiness of youth still lingers around him. Steve can tell that outside of basic training this boy has never shot a gun before.

          He reminds Steve of all the fresh recruits of the army on their first day of basic; untested, unprepared, and ignorant to just how unprepared they were. Steve knows without a doubt that he could grab the gun that is pressed heavily against his back and shoot him before the boy got a shot off at him. Steve could probably shoot just to wound him, although Steve knows he’s much more accurate with his shield than a gun. Still, a bullet through a kneecap still means a lifetime of pain, of never being able to walk without a limp, and the boy is so young.

          Locked in a stand-off, neither willing to back down, but neither willing to shoot. The door bursts open. Any extra time Steve has bought himself is gone. 10,000 volts of electricity slam into him. Against his will his joints lock up, and he chokes out a groan through a clenched jaw. The volts stop and his knees feel like jelly. Another guard pulls a stub baton and presses it against his back. Steve’s knees hit the ground with a painful thud. His body shakes. Steve sees a pair of boots out of the corner of his eye. Then he hears a crack and feels a sharp pain in his head. Vaguely he’s aware that someone just hit him in the back of the head. Steve sees the man wind back to do it a second time. Then everything goes black.


	6. House Call

          “Natasha knows somebody who can get us to the raft. She’s dealing with him know and is going to call me tonight about it,” Clint’s voice comes out small and fuzzy over Sam’s burner cellphone.

          “How long is that going to take?” Sam asks, and he fights to keep the impatience out of his voice. This isn’t Clint’s fault.

          “I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I get more details,” Clint says.

          “I know you will man,” Sam sighs and reminds himself that it hasn’t even been a week yet. Steve is strong, he can handle himself.

          “Scott says there’s another person who can shrink like him. He’s off getting her onboard with the plan. Just be patient a little longer. We’ll be busting Cap out soon,” Clint promises.

          A knock on Sam’s apartment door, cuts off Sam’s reply.

          “Gotta go, bye.” Sam says quickly hanging up. He checks that his knife is still tucked in his boot. It’s not paranoia, he knows they are being watched, that’s why he only contacts Clint on the burner phone in his house with all the blind’s drawn hiding as far away from the windows as possible. A few deep breaths to center himself and prepare for the worst, then he opens the door, plastering a big smile on his face, just in case it’s one of the neighbors. It’s not one of the neighbors.

          King T’Challa stands at his door, looking regal, albeit out of place, on the steps of Sam’s small suburban home.

          After a few seconds of Sam awkwardly staring—this is not at all what he was expecting—he steps aside.

          “Your Majesty, come in.”

          T’Challa’s face has a solemnness to it that sets Sam’s nerves on edge. He forcibly reminds himself that T’Challa is an ally. He can’t shake the feeling that T’Challa isn’t here to help though. A strong sudden urge to kick him out of his house overwhelms him. He almost does it, but before he can T’Challa opens his mouth and begins to speak.

          “I am sorry, but I didn’t want you to find out from the news.”

          “Find out what?” Sam asks, every instinct telling him to make T’Challa leave right now.

          “Captain Rogers was killed during an escape attempt last night. I am sorry. I was just informed,” T’Challa says. Sam can feel himself shaking his head. That’s impossible, Steve couldn’t just die, not when they were planning a rescue for him. But T’Challa is an ally and he had no reason to lie. There’s a level of sympathy, bordering on pity, in his face that can’t be faked. It’s the same look he had grown used to in the months after Riley’s death. Oh God, this felt like Riley all over again.

          Strong hands gently lead him to the couch and force him to sit down.

          “Captain Rogers was a—”

          “Shut up,” Sam says flatly. He doesn’t want to hear about how Steve was a great man, or a hero, or whatever it was T’Challa was going to say. Not that Steve wasn’t all of those things and more, but Sam doesn’t want to hear it from a man who only knew Steve a few months. A more rational part of his brain argues that that is hardly charitable to T’Challa especially with all that he’s done for them, but grief has a way of smothering that voice.

          For his part T’Challa doesn’t look offended. He just quietly waits until the first few waves of grief have finished crashing over Sam.

          “That is not the only reason why I’m here,” he finally says softly.

          “There’s more?” Sam asks.

          “Captain Rogers left me with instructions that should anything happen to him, that you were the one to be left in charge of all of Sergeant Barnes health decisions while he remains in the ice.”

          Sam feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He’s not shocked that he’s been left with this responsibility. After all neither Steve nor Bucky have a lot of people they can turn to, but it’s not a burden he ever wanted to bear.

          “Currently Sergeant Barnes’s status remains unchanged,” T’Challa adds helpfully.

          “We need to wake him up,” Sam says abruptly. It’s not something that he wants, but he has to do it. He owes Bucky that much.

          T'Challa raises an eyebrow, but waits for Sam to elaborate.

          “He deserves to know…about Steve. I need to be the one to tell him,” Sam says. Sam would want to know if he were in Bucky’s place, and though he doesn’t know Bucky all that well the idea of him being ignorant to the monumental loss they all just suffered doesn’t feel right.

          “I can’t go now…I need a few days. I’ll contact you to make arrangements to go see him. Don’t wake him up until I get there,” Sam says. T’Challa nods. He looks, if not pleased, but satisfied with Sam’s decision, which further convinces Sam it’s the right one.

          “I will be in touch,” T’Challa says, and just like that he’s gone as suddenly as he appeared. Sam can almost convince himself it’s a bad dream. He’s had dreams about Steve dying before, usually they’re in the air and he’s shot down, like Riley. A sick sense of déjà vu comes over him. He thought he was done with this. He was out, until he wasn’t. Captain America had dragged him, not unwillingly, back in. But if you couldn’t trust Captain America to survive the impossible, who could you trust?

          It was childish thinking. Anybody could die in war. Sam knows that, and Steve knew it too. Sam didn’t think anything could hurt as much as watching Riley fall, but this comes pretty damn close. Sam would like to curl up and ignore the world for a few hours, but he can’t.

          The evening news will be on soon and there are more people than him who deserve to find out what happened from someone more personal than the nightly news anchor.

          Sam picks up the burner phone and calls Clint’s number. 

          The conversation is tense and brief. Sam knows Wanda, who has been staying with Clint, is listening because halfway through telling Clint what happens he hears a shrill scream and the connection goes out. Clint calls back a few minutes later, once Wanda has gotten herself back under control. Clint promises to reach out to the others for him, for which Sam is grateful. He doesn’t think he could tell the story again.

          Mission completed, Sam grabs his sneakers out of the closet and does the one thing that always helped when feelings of Riley were threatening to overwhelm him. Sam goes for a run.

          It’s a warm day, but Sam has spent months running around Wakanda, so he barely notices the sweat dripping down his forehead. Instead he concentrates on the pounding of his feet against pavement, and tries not to wonder if Steve was running when he died. To that regard he has little success. Images of Steve running, bullets ripping into his back, cloud his mind. Worse are the images of Steve, sleeping in his cell, when a guard opens fire on him. Sam likes to think he’s not a crazy conspiracy theorist, but he’s seen a lot of unbelievable things over the past few years. The government silencing their most embarrassing critic before he finds a way to make himself a nuisance would hardly be the most outrageous thing he’s heard recently. The worst is not knowing. Escape attempt? Conspiracy? Alone? Surrounded by people who didn’t give a damn about him? Any way you slice it, it wasn’t a fate Steve deserved. It makes Sam’s blood boil just thinking about it.

          “On your left.”

          Sam nearly trips, coming to an unsteady halt. The man who passes him is blonde, but far too thin, and slow, to be Steve Rogers. Sam’s eyes burn as he watches the man fade into the distance. That’s enough running for today.


	7. The Perfect Soldier

            Cold pricks against his bare skin. The uncomfortable sensation drags Steve back into consciousness. His first semi-conscious realization is that he’s shirtless. Shivering slightly, he tries to lean forward, to curl in on himself, and preserve whatever heat he can. He can’t though. He’s strapped to the chair. Consciousness comes flooding back now, with that realization. He pulls harder, testing its strength. 

            “Don’t bother Rogers,” A smug voice says. Ross. “Those bonds are more than strong enough to hold you, even with your augmented strength.”

            Steve knows Ross is many things, but he isn’t a complete idiot. So when he says Steve doesn’t have the strength to rip his arms free, he’s probably right. That doesn’t stop Steve from trying anyways. As he tries, Steve takes in his surroundings. He’s in a lab, similar to the medical unit. The doctor from before is staring intently at the screen.

            “Ready?” Ross asks him. He nods and taps a few buttons on his keyboard. Steve hears the whirl of mechanics above his head. A few seconds later cool metal is pressed against his face. Then, at Ross’s nod, the doctor pushes a button.

            It hurts. Steve is no stranger to pain, but he can easily say this is one of the most painful experiences of his life. It feels like someone is deep frying his brain. He can hear himself screaming. Worse than the pain though was that he could feel himself forgetting. It was like someone was reaching inside his head and literally scooping the memories away. First the names of people and places faded from memory. Faces that he knew he knew only minutes ago smile up at him, going blurry at the edges. A man with a silver arm, was it his right arm or his left arm? Left was important, he was running past someone. _On your left._ A man whose chest glows looks at him from a red suit of armor. Red, like a woman’s hair. Only now Steve can’t remember if the redheaded woman wore a military uniform or dressed all in black. Everything was jumbled an out of order, and the more he fought to remember the more in burned.

             A kindly looking man pokes his chest. The man is important. Steve can’t remember why. There was something he promised. The promise was important. The man blurs around the edges, until he’s nothing more than a smudge in Steve’s memories, easily wiped away. The promise though. _That you will stay who you are, not a perfect soldier, but a good man._ That lingers for a long time. Even once the faces have all gone, even his own name and face have disappeared, the promise clings to corners of his brain. Stubborn.

            Until finally, his own screaming drowns out the words.

            The doctor pushes a few more buttons and the machine shuts down, metal pulling away from The Soldier’s face. Dull blue eyes stare blankly ahead.

            “Soldier report,” Ross commands.

            At first nothing happens. Then the smallest hint of awareness creeps into The Soldier’s eyes. He looks at Ross without any hint of anger or disgust.

            “Ready to comply,” his voice is rough from screaming, but his tone is neutral.

            Ross had spent a lot of time thinking about what type of mission he should give The Soldier. With his skillset, his options were plenty. Of course, to start out it shouldn’t be something overly taxing. The book had given them basic details about the procedure, but acknowledged that everyone responded a bit differently to it.

            So, Ross had decided, The Soldier’s first mission would be a simple assassination right here in DC. It would be quick, it wouldn’t require any international travel or stealth, and the target was an older man, who was unlikely to put up much of a fight. An ambassador was selling state secrets. A trial would be costly, embarrassing, and the potential political fallout terrible.

            Mindful that The Soldier may only be pretending, Ross calls in the guards before he undoes the cuffs around The Soldier’s wrists and ankles. The Soldier does nothing. Sitting there, he patiently awaits further instructions. As Ross informs him of his mission, he watches closely for any signs of disgust or disobedience. Proudly, he finds none. The Soldier accepts his orders with a quiet, “Yes sir.”

            The mark lives in an upscale neighborhood in DC with his wife. His house has a standard security system in place. The type that will dissuade the average robber looking for an easy score, but does little to protect against a professional on a mission. Ross has the system hacked and shut down before The Soldier makes even makes it to the house. The lock is easily picked and The Soldier steals into the living room.

            The house is quiet, it’s occupants asleep. The Soldier walks past pictures on the wall of family. Proudly framed amongst the photos are masterpieces of art in Crayola and markers. He ignores those too. They are irrelevant to the mission.  

            In the bedroom a whitehaired man snores, his wife curled up next to him. It’s a peaceful scene. Without hesitation the soldier puts one hand over the man’s mouth and the other presses down on his throat. For a moment the man remains still before his eyes snap open. Brown eyes meet dull blue eyes. The man flails about. He’s uncoordinated in his panic and misses hitting The Soldier at all. He does succeed in smacking his wife who jerks awake with a gasp. She surveys the scene in a half asleep daze, as if not sure whether it’s real or a dream. Her husband’s muffled cries get more desperate as his movements get weaker.

            For a brief second her eyes slide past her husband and The Soldier to the bedroom door. The Soldier is preoccupied focused solely on his mission; her husband. They’ve been married for decades, and smitten with each other for even longer. Their vows had been traditional; for better or worse.

            She lunges at The Soldier. He removes one arm from her husband’s throat to body slam her back into the bed. The action does nothing but buy her husband a few seconds of air. She begins screaming. The neighbors will hear. The police will come. She just needs to keep The Soldier too distracted to finish the job. She throws herself at him, shoving at him and tugging at his arms. She might as well be a child trying to move a statue for all the good it does. Every once in while The Soldier will get annoyed enough to throw her aside long enough for her husband to gasp a few precious breaths of air. 

            She’s impeding the mission. Ross told him what to do in the event anyone tried to impede the mission. There’s an ache in his chest, like he’s been crying, but The Soldier can’t ever remember crying. The ache gets stronger when he thinks of what he needs to do. He doesn’t want to do it… But he doesn’t want to be a bad soldier. When the woman lunges at him again he lets go of the man and grabs her by the throat with both hands. Her eyes widen. The Soldier tries not to think about what a lovely shade of green they are. Then he snaps her neck. He drops her on the bed next to her husband.

            For a moment both The Soldier and her husband stare at the body. The ache in The Soldier’s chest worsens and works its way up his throat until there is a burning behind his eyes. He is sure that this is what crying is like. His breaths are coming out in harsh gasps. He needs to get out of this room. What is he even doing here anyway? Next to him the man gives a strangled moan of terror and grief. The mission. That’s what The Soldier is doing here. The ache in his chest lessens. The Soldier puts his hands on the man’s throat. This time the man seems too overcome with emotions and defeat to struggle. When The Soldier is sure that he dead, The Solder lays him down next to his wife. It almost looks like a peaceful scene.

            The Solder is almost ten minutes late to the extraction point. Ross is displeased.

            “Where the hell were you?” He snaps at The Soldier the moment he gets in the car, “report!”

            “Target eliminated. Mission was delayed by target’s wife interrupting. She was also eliminated.” The Soldier reports in a clipped voice. He doesn’t bother to mention the feeling in his chest. It’s gone now and doesn’t seem important anymore.

            “Good, good. You did what needed to be done. She was acceptable collateral damage,” Ross says. He’s still watching him closely. The Soldier remains perfectly blank, staring out the front window.

            Happy with what he sees, some of the tension bleeds out of Ross.

            “You know, you did better than I thought,” Ross says, “I was concerned that it being your first mission and all, you might have a lapse in obedience.”

            The Soldier doesn’t understand what Ross means by ‘lapse in obedience.’ He is a good soldier. The Soldier remains silent.

            “A reward is an order. I’m reinstating you as Captain.” Ross says beaming.

            The Captain. It feels familiar and causes a small bit of pressure on his chest, like he felt back in the bedroom. Only instead of sad, this seems distinctly happy. He instantly decides that he likes it.

            “Thank you sir,” The Captain says.

            “Once we get back to base, there is someone I want you to meet,” Ross says.


	8. Meetings

            Tony Stark isn’t drunk. He poured himself exactly one glass of whiskey and has been staring at it since Friday told him. She broke the news gently to him, which is appreciated. It would have been so much worse hearing it on the six o’clock news.

            Tony’s fist hits the table with a thud, nearly upsetting the glass. This isn’t what he wanted. He had been a little bit relieved when Rogers had been brought in because it meant that the hunt for him had ended without bloodshed and that he was, if not happy, at least okay. What was he thinking? A lone escape attempt like that. He was probably thinking that he was Captain America and he could do anything. Survive anything. Bastard. Damn selfish bastard. For not signing The Accords. For going into hiding like that. For dying on them all and leaving a mess behind.

            Of course it wasn’t all Cap’s fault here. Tony had seen the type of guards that worked at the Raft, and they were idiots, every last one of them. There were probably half a dozen non-lethal ways they could have taken Steve down, but they probably panicked and killed him. To be fair, two hundred pounds of determined super soldier could be pretty damn intimidating. Still, they were supposed to be professionals, and Steve was many things but overly violent was not one of them. Tony had Friday look into it and not a single guard was reported dead from the incident, and Tony knew full well it was because Steve held back and not because of any skill on the part of the guards.

            The ring of his cell phone rips through the silence. Ross’s name blinks insistently on the screen. Tony has half a mind to just ignore it; he has nothing to say to the bastard. Then he glances down at his desk drawer. Inside sits a different cell phone. One that he never used and now will never get the chance to use. Tony thinks better of ignoring the call. He actually has a lot to say to Ross.  

            “Hello” Tony says, downing the whiskey.

            “Stark, there is something I want to show you. I’ll text you the location. Don’t keep me waiting.”

            The line goes dead before Tony can even decide what he wants to say to him. Fury surges inside of Tony. The man doesn’t even have the decency to acknowledge what happened to Steve. His cell phone pings with the coordinates. As much as being slow would piss off Ross the most, Tony is too furious and has too much to say to the man to even think about dawdling.

            “Friday, tell Rhodey and Vision that I’m going out. Don’t wait up for me,” Tony says, summoning his armor. He doesn’t wait for a reply as he blasts off.

            Ross is waiting for him outside an army base. It’s one of the ones that is “off the books” but Tony has been aware of it for a while. Ross’s cyber security is terrible. Tony lands, faceplate snaps up so Tony can look him in the eyes as he verbally shreds him to pieces.

            “You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me, you bastard,” Tony says, his voice starting out dangerously low.

            Ross looks unfazed. “If you will remove the suit Mr. Stark, this meeting can begin.”

            “You think like hell I’m taking off the suit. You’re lucky I haven’t blasted you off your feet yet,” Tony snaps.

            “This meeting is about Steve Rogers. If you want to know more, I suggest you take off the suit and follow me.” Ross says and then turns on his heel and begins walking inside.

            His back is completely unguarded and Tony can just imagine aiming his repulser just between his shoulder blades and firing. But this meeting is about Steve. He can’t pass up an opportunity to learn more about what happened. Reluctantly the suit breaks down around him and folds up neatly into a briefcase.

            “Just leave it by the door,” Ross says not turning around as he opens the door. Sharking with barely concealed fury Tony does as Ross says, if only because his curiosity is burning even hotter than his anger, for the moment. Whatever Ross has to say to him better be good or Tony is getting the suit again.

            Inside is bright, white, and empty save for the figure of a man standing stiffly in the middle of the room. Even though his back is to Tony, he recognizes the cut of his shoulders instantly. 

             “Steve?” Tony will deny to his dying day that his voice quivered slightly.

             Steve doesn’t acknowledge him.

            “Steve?” Tony says louder. He picks up the pace from walking to jogging. He’s half afraid that he’s wrong. That it isn’t Steve, just an over muscled douchebag. If he is, and this is Ross’s idea of a joke Tony is going to put his suit back on and blast both of them.

            It’s not though, Tony can tell the moment he gets a good look at his face. But something is wrong. Steve stares through him, like he’s not even there. Steve is many things, and stoic is definitely one of them, but this level of silent treatment is downright passive aggressive. In Tony’s experience, Steve is more likely to try to lecture him or at least give him a coldly disappointed look. Tony considers brain damage, but dismisses it. The serum protects against things like that.

            “Like it?” Ross asks, failing to keep the note of smugness out of his voice. Tony doubts he is trying very hard though.

            “What did you do to him?”

            “I’ve finished what your father and Doctor Erksime started,” Ross says, “a truly perfect soldier.”

            Steve doesn’t react more than turning to look blankly at Ross. No comment or even a glare. That’s not right. That’s not Steve.

            “What did you do to him?” Tony repeats coldly.

            “I removed Steve Rogers. Now there is only Captain America; a dutiful soldier, ready to serve his country fully,” Ross says. He’s staring at Steve in an obsessive way that makes Tony want to step between them and block Steve from his sight.

            “You can’t just remove Steve from Captain America,” Tony says, “It’s impossible.”

            “Nonsense, the technology has existed for decades, we just didn’t have it,” Ross scoffs.

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tony asks, but already his mind is piecing things together. He wants to hear Ross say it though.

            “Hydra removed Barnes from the equation and got the Winter Soldier. We are using their process for good.”

            “For good. You think this is good?” Tony asks, his voice rising with every word, “this isn’t good. This is the complete opposite of good.”

            Tony hates the Winter Soldier with a passion, and doesn’t particularly care for Barnes as a person, but even he knows that what had happened to him was a fate that Tony wouldn’t wish on anybody, especially not Steve. Tony stares at Steve’s expressionless face. It’s painful to see a deadness in his eyes that even on his worse day Steve never had. Feeling sick, Tony wishes the guards had killed Steve, because this is a fate worse than death. It’s a disturbing thought, but he can’t bring himself to take it back.

            “The news said he was dead,” Tony says coldly.

            “That’s what we wanted the public to think. Even imprisoned Rogers was too much in the limelight. Already we were getting calls from CNN and others wanting to do interviews with him,” Ross says, “this is much cleaner.”

            “I’m going to…to… tell someone about this. This has got to be illegal,” Tony says furiously.

            “I’m Secretary of Defense, who do you think is above me? The President? You don’t think he already knows? He didn’t want to lose Captain America as an asset either.”

            “I won’t let you get away with this.” Tony says.

            Ross frowns, looking genuinely surprised and disappointed by Tony’s disapproval.

            “Don’t you understand? This is the best thing we could ever hope for. It’s even better than his signing the Accords.”

            Tony flinches at the use of “we;” as if Ross and he were on the same team. Ross is looking at him like he is expecting Tony to agree with him and Tony just wants to vomit. He feels like an idiot. He knew how Ross felt about enhanced humans. Bruce had told him all about his desperation to get ahold of the hulk at any cost. Why did he expect Ross would view Steve any differently? If anything Steve was even better than the hulk. Ross would kill for a sample of the serum. And Tony had joined forces with him, like a complete idiot. Self-loathing and shame rise like bile in his throat. Tony messed up bad, and now Steve was facing the consequences.

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tony snaps. His eyes desperately roam over Steve’s still form, hoping for some sign that Steve is still in there. Steve stares past him at military parade rest. It’s a familiar stance that Tony has seen Steve in countless times before, but it had never looked so wrong. Steve was standing too stiff, his shoulders too perfectly level, and his face blank in a way that Tony had never seen before.

            “The word of Steve Roger’s doesn’t mean much to me. He’d violate them the moment a child shows up on the news asking for Captain America to save them. Steve Roger’s is not the type to obey orders,” Ross explains, “…until now.”

            “You’re sick”

            Ross shakes his head, clicking his tongue looking like a disappointed teacher with a particularly dull pupil. Tony yearns to slap the look off his face.

            “And you’re too blinded by your friendship with Steve to see that I’m right.” Ross says. This is too much. Tony needs to get out of here. He needs to talk to Rhodey and Vision. He needs really to stop staring at Steve’s slackened face.

            “I’m leaving,” Tony says backing up, still unable to tear his eyes away from Steve. His suit sits innocently in its briefcase just outside the door, “You’re insane.”

            “It’s a shame that you feel that way, I truly thought we were on the same side here Stark,” Ross says earnestly.

            “I never wanted this,” Tony says desperately. Ross, crazy as he is, had to understand; Tony never wanted to hurt Steve. He had just wanted…wanted what? To stop feeling guilty for Ultron, to protect people…yeah, look at how well it had all turned out.

            “You’re a monster,” Tony says darkly.

             “I’m sorry you feel that way,” says Ross softly, “At least your coming here isn’t a complete waste. I’ve been meaning to test his obedience to me against former allies.”

            At his nod, the blankness from Steve’s face melts into an intense look of concentration. Suddenly, there’s a very pissed off super soldier running full speed towards Tony and Tony’s suit has never felt further away. Tony makes a break for the door, but he knows it’s a token effort, even before Steve’s weight slams into his back. As he falls to the ground, painful memories of Siberia flash before his eyes. This is going to hurt so much worse. A distant part of Tony is grateful that at least Steve doesn’t have his shield with him this time as he punches the back of Tony’s head repeatedly. Tony squirms, trying to get an arm out from under him to protect himself. Steve flips him onto his back and grabs his throat, squeezing it. Uselessly Tony scratches at Steve’s hands, but Steve ignores them, not even bothering to bat them away. As bad as it is, and by the way Tony’s lungs are burning things are definitely bad, Tony realizes that Steve still isn’t fighting to full capacity. He could have crushed his throat. Hell, he could have crushed his skull with a few blows. Steve is fighting this. Barnes fought it, and apparently broke free of his programing. If he can do it, than Steve can too.

            Tony, using the last few seconds of oxygen deprived consciousness kicks Steve as hard as he can. Steve grunts in pain, his grip slackening. Precious oxygen fills his lungs.

            “Steve. Please Steve, it’s me. Tony,” Tony gasps out.

            Steve’s hands leave his throat. Tony grins up at him. Then a fist comes down on his face.

            “Alright, buddy it’s alright. I probably deserve that for ever leaving you alone with crazy pants Ross. But come on Steve, snap out of it,” Tony says. He flinches when a punch lands inches from his head. The cement floor cracks.

            “You don’t want to hurt me. I’m your friend Steve.”

            The Captain rears back for another blow. He wishes the man would stop talking. Every time he says something the ache in his chest gets worse. His head is also beginning to hurt now.

            “Steve! Please, don’t do this. I’m sorry Steve. I’m sorry. I didn’t know he would do this to you”

            He doesn’t know why the man keeps calling him Steve. The Captain wishes he had a name to call the man. The name Howard feels familiar, but so does the name Tony. He can’t decide which one to call him. He settles on Stark. That one feels right. Images of him in an old fashioned suit piloting an airplane swirl together with memories of him piloting a red robo-suit. The visions make him feel dizzy and sick. Something tells The Captain that if he kills Stark and completes his mission the pain will go away. He wants that…but he hesitates. He doesn’t want to kill Stark.

            He lets his arms drop to his sides and sees the relief in Stark’s eyes at the action. It hurts, disobeying orders. He’s not a perfect soldier. It’s worth it though. Stark is smiling at him. Maybe Stark will be able to make the pain go away. He looks like an intelligent man.

            “Damn,” Ross shakes his head, “send in the guards.”

            A dozen guards march in, surrounding Tony and The Captain, who are still on the floor. Two of them haul The Captain to his feet. He doesn’t struggle, he’s tired and in pain and he failed his mission. As they lead him out The Captain can hear Stark shouting angrily. He feels the strong urge to go back and reassure him that everything is going to be okay. He tugs against the guards. Immediately a stun baton is pressed against his back. A scream is ripped from his throat. This is his punishment for disobeying orders. He doesn’t try to pull away again.

            Tony watches as Steve obediently follows the guards out. He was so close. Tony could see Steve resisting, could see the spark of recognition in his eyes as his punches continued to miss him. Tony sits up. He could go after him, though he doubts it will do much good. Twelve guards against him sans suit isn’t a fight he can even hope to win. Besides, a small part of him is terrified by what he saw in Steve. If Ross could turn someone as stubborn and good as Steve into a mindless attack dog, what could they do to him? His brain is his super power. His best weapon. He can’t imagine losing that.

            Tony stumbles to his feet. Ross isn’t paying attention to him, too intent on Steve. Tony needs to get out of here, form a real plan, and save Steve. His gut clenches in guilt at the thought of leaving Steve again in the hands of a lunatic, but it’s for the best. He repeats that thought in his head like a mantra as he runs out, grabbing his suit on the way. Instantly cool metal surrounds him. It’s protective and comforting. He almost turns around and goes back inside to fight, but he doesn’t. Steve is counting on him to think rationally and have a plan.

            “Friday, tell Vision and Rhodey to meet me at the tower.”

            “Yes boss”


	9. If at First You Don't Succeed...

            “Disappointing, but better this happened in a controlled environment rather than out in the field.”

            A man is talking to Ross. The Captain believes the man might be a doctor, but he isn’t sure. He doesn’t feel sure of much at the moment. Everything hurts and he has a vague feeling that something bad has happened or is happening. It’s all very disjointed in his head right now. He wishes Stark was here. He’s not sure how he knows it, but he feels that Stark would be able to explain what is happening to him. Nobody else will. Ross and the Doctor keep looking at him like he’s some sort of puzzle they are trying to figure out. The multitude of guards ignore him, unless he gets too restless, than they are quick with the stun batons.

            The Captain sits in a hard metal chair. He’s patient as he waits for them to finish their discussion. When they are done the Doctor goes to one of the many computers while Ross moves to stand in front of The Captain. The Captain stares up at him.

            “You disobeyed,” Ross says, shaking his head like a disappointed parent.

            The Captain bows his head, shame welling up inside. He feels the need to apologize, to justify something that he knows in unjustifiable. No words come out though. The Captain wonders will happen now. He supposes he will be punished, but he’s not sure what his punishment will look like. He’s never disobeyed before, that he can remember. Although, after seeing Stark he’s beginning to have a feeling that maybe he has disobeyed before. It’s a dangerous and terrifying thought. One that The Captain wisely keeps to himself.

            “Put him under again. This time for longer, until we’re sure we’ve burned every last disobedient thought and inkling of memory out of his damned skull,” Ross says to the Doctor.

            A few pushes of buttons later and there is a mechanical whirling above The Captain’s head. The noise sends a jolt of panic down his spine. He isn’t sure how he knows, but he is positive that this is a bad noise. Cold metal presses against his face and skull. The Captain looks at the guards desperately. Most don’t meet his eyes, and the ones who do look far too cold to be of any help.

            Pain, far more intense than the ache in his chest invade his head. Memories of a man and his wife sleeping peacefully flash before his mind. The feel of snapping bones beneath his fingers and the anguished noises of man briefly invade his mind before disappearing. Harder to make disappear is Stark. The man stubbornly lingers in his memory. The sound of his voice and the curve of his smile all beg The Captain to be remembered. He tries. The Captain truly does, but eventually even Stark is burned away. There is a blankness in his mind now, and no memories to help distract him from the pain that keeps pressing against his skull. It feels like something is scraping the inside of his brain, trying to fish out any hidden memories to destroy, but there simply aren’t any left.

            When the machine is turned off, it takes a few minutes for him to stop screaming.

~*~*~*~

            Rhodey and Vision look grim as they sit across the table from Tony in the most secure conference room of the tower. The bruises forming on Tony’s face lend credible evidence to the outrageous story he has just told.

            “Not that I don’t believe you,” Rhodey says, “but what are supposed to do?”

            “Stop him, obviously,” Tony snaps, frustrated by the lack of outburst from Rhodey and Vision.

            “How? We can’t just burst in there, guns blazing. We’ll get arrested. Even if we sneak him out here is where he’ll think to look first,” Rhodey says.

            “Then I won’t bring him here, I’ll bring him to one of my many properties.”

            “Do you have any properties that Ross doesn’t know about anymore? You had to turn over all that information when you signed the Accords,” Rhodey points out. Tony deflates a bit. Right, he had forgotten about that.

            “Perhaps if we could get in contact with Agent Romanoff,” Vision suggests, “or perhaps one of the other former avengers.”

            “Ross will have them all under surveillance, and I don’t even know how to contact Romanoff anymore.” Tony admits. His face throbs and suddenly he feels very exhausted. Rhodey and Vision are looking to him for a plan and he doesn’t know what to tell them.    

            “We could still try to pass along the message to them and let them get him out. It would at least allow you to have an alibi when Ross comes looking for you about his missing super soldier. Hopefully that would be enough to keep you out of jail,” Rhodey says. He chews on the inside of his cheek worriedly. Tony isn’t a soldier. Tony doesn’t understand the risks of taking on someone like Ross. But Rhodey does, and he’s determined not lose Tony to some black site prison over this.

            “So sit back and do nothing, while Steve plays puppet to a psychopath?” Tony snaps.

            “I don’t want that for Steve,” Rhodey says a bit defensively, “but I don’t want you to get whisked away never to be heard from again because you got tangled up in this business.”

            Tony gives him a weak smile, “pretty sure the public wouldn’t be happy if Iron Man disappeared.”

            “They handled the death of Captain America,” Rhodey points out, “I mean not happily. There were protests in the streets, but they eventually calmed down.”

            Tony stares at him. Rhodey can practically see the gears turning in his mind as a slow smile drags across his face.

            “Protests for shooting a beloved national icon during an alleged escape attempt. What do you think would happen if the public found out that he wasn’t dead, but instead had been tortured by his own government and used as a test dummy in a highly illegal brainwashing experiment?”

            Rhodey and Vision exchange looks.

            “There would be riots,” Vision says.

            “Yes, I suppose there would be…and this year is an election year too. How convenient.” Tony says, “now if you excuse me boys, I have some government files to hack.”

            “And what good will riots do?” Vision asks.

            “I’m going to make Steve too much of a liability for the government to hold on to, at least assuming President Ellis wants to be re-elected.” Tony says, then adds thoughtfully, “This also might help me get some of those modifications Steve wanted on the Accords pushed through.”

            “That’s great, but will that fix his mind?” Rhodey asks.

            Tony flinches as memories of a blank stare steal his breath away.

            “One problem at a time. Get Steve out of Ross’s hands, and then fix his mind. If Steve managed to salvage what was left of Barnes mind after 70 years, I’m sure we can do the same for Steve after only a few weeks,” Tony says, with an air of confidence that he doesn’t fully believe.

            Rhodey and Vision look less than convinced, but neither argue. They don’t have a better plan.

 

~*~*~*~

            It’s been 72 hours. The machine has been turned off and on a dozen times or so. First The Captain goes through the pain of the chair. Then he is tested. Photos of strangers are placed in front of him and he is commanded to identify any that he recognizes. He never recognizes any of them, but sometimes his gaze will linger on a few. There’s a photo of a man with a bow on his back that the Captain goes back to three times before giving up and admitting to himself that he doesn’t know the man’s name after all. There’s a big blonde man that looks like he could be a circus strong man that also looks vaguely familiar. The Captain wonders if the man is famous. Every time he lingers too long on one of these pictures he’s placed back in the chair and they try again. Eventually, he can flip through all the pictures without hesitation.

            The first time he does that Ross looks pleased. He makes him do it three more times before h determines the “treatment” to be a success. The Captain wonders what he needed a “treatment” for. He doesn’t remember being sick. The errant thought is quickly brushed aside though. He has no use for idle thoughts.

            “You have a mission,” Ross says.

            The Captain straightens up.

            “There is a dangerous group of vigilantes that need to be eliminated.”

            Ross throws a stack of files on the table and nods for The Captain to pick one up. He picks up the top one and flips it open.

            A picture of a black man with metallic wings strapped to his back stares back at him. Underneath the picture the name SAM WILSON is typed neatly. On the next page is more information about the man and a list of his crimes.

            “Take him out. When you’re done I’ll give you the next file.” Ross says. The Captain nods and salutes, before tucking the file safely away.

            “Dismissed.”


	10. On Your Left

            Sam returns from another morning run exhausted physically and mentally. It had been an unusually hard run; a runner passing him with a muttered “on your left” nearly stopped him cold, then towards the end of his run a brown haired man passed and for a split second Sam could have sworn it was Riley. It’s been a long time since he’s had the problem of seeing Riley everywhere he looks, and he’s not dumb. He knows that Steve’s death dragged a whole lot of stuff out into the open again. It’s like a wound that had just managed scab over and stupid Steve Rogers had to rip it off again. No, that was unfair. Sam made his choice to get back in, and it’s one he doesn’t regret. He feels confident that Steve didn’t either.

            He grabs the orange juice out of the fridge. A noise outside stops him mid-swig. It’s the slight creak of his front gate. Normally Sam doesn’t even hear it, but this morning was rough and he’s been extra tense and alert. Sam’s not expecting visitors, but Clint warned him that Natasha was back in the country and would probably be stopping by to check on him soon. He wonders if it would be rude to pretend he’s not home. Probably. Also probably pointless because he doubts he will ever be able to fool her. Better get this over with.

            Sam swings open the door, and wonders if this is what it feels like to lose one’s mind. It’s kind of disappointing. He doesn’t feel particularly crazy, in fact he thought he was handling everything rather well. He was eating healthy, sticking to a regular routine, and most nights even sleeping. Clearly he’s not as sane as he thinks he is if he’s hallucinating Steve Rogers walking up his drive. Sam wonders what to do. Should he acknowledge the hallucination or just go back inside and pretend it doesn’t exist until it goes away. He’s still debating on what to do when 200 pounds of super soldier knocks him flat on his back. Probably not a hallucination then. 

            Steve Rogers stands over Sam, looking down with a slight scowl on his face.

            “What the hell?” Sam groans. Steve drops to his knees and for a split second Sam actually things Steve is going to answer his question. Then a fist is flying towards his face. Instincts kick in and Sam rolls out of the way, springing to his feet. Steve is on his feet as well an instant later. They both stare at each other, tense, waiting for the other to make the first move.

            Sam uses the few moments of calm to examine Steve closer. It’s definitely him and that means he’s definitely alive. Those are two very good, if surprising, facts. It is obvious that Steve doesn’t recognize him, and when Sam looks at his eyes there’s a disturbing blankness about them that makes Sam’s stomach churn. In all his years dealing with trauma victims and soldiers there is only one other person who has ever looked that blank. The Winter Soldier.

            “Steve?” Sam says softly.

            Steve doesn’t answer. Instead he lunges at Sam, who isn’t quite fast enough to dodge and avoid tripping over the ottoman. Sam lands on the couch. Steve right behind him, hitting him across the back of the skull. Sam’s head snaps forward.

            “Dammit Steve. What did they do to you?” Sam asks, though he doesn’t expect an answer. He wiggles around, so he’s facing Steve. If Steve is here to kill him, he at least wants to make him look him in the eye when he does it.

            “This isn’t you Steve. You know this isn’t you,” Sam says, because he really doesn’t want to die. Steve looks completely unmoved as he raises his fist and punches him.

            “Fight this Steve. Don’t let them win.”

            The fist comes down again with crushing force.

            “Don’t you dare give up in there.”

            And again. And again. And again.

            Sam’s vision is blacking out and forming coherent thoughts are getting more difficult and still Steve persists. There isn’t a trace of hesitation in his punches or a hint of recognition in his eyes. Sam knows he’s in there though. If Bucky can be in there after 70 years, there’s no way they got rid of stubborn Steve Rogers in only a few weeks. Steve is going to come back. Sam might not be around to see it, but he has no doubt that Steve is going to come back. And knowing Steve, he’s going to feel guilty as hell for killing him. In a way Sam is kind of glad not to have to be there for that resulting breakdown. Still, he’s a softy at heart and he’ll be damned if he lets himself die without at least trying to reassure Steve.

            “I know you’re in there. You better not feel guilty about this later ok?”

            Sam’s pretty sure he just chipped a tooth with that punch.

            “I don’t blame you, for anything…You’re a good man Steve. Don’t you ever forget that.”

            Sam closes his eyes and waits for the next punch. His whole face is a bleeding mess. The punch doesn’t come. Sam opens his eyes. Steve is staring off into the distance, fist still raised. It’s like someone pressed pause. Sam seizes the moment and keeps talking.

            "That’s right Steve, keep fighting.”

            The fist inches closer to his face. Sam refuses to let any bit of fear show on his face. He keeps talking to Steve.

            The Captain feels pain. It’s everywhere. It started in his chest before spilling out into his limbs. Now his chest throbs, his arms burn at his resistance, his head aches and he feels disturbingly dizzy. The pain will go away as soon as he kills this man, he’s quite sure of it.

            But the target had said that he’s a good man, and The Captain knows that it’s important to be a good man. He’s not sure why. General Ross’s orders never specified that he needed to be a good man, only a good soldier. Although, weren’t they supposed to be the same thing? It feels like these orders predate Ross. They feel like they are his original set of orders, so old he can’t even remember where he first heard them.

            “That’s it Steve, just take some deep breaths for me.”

            The Captain inhales deeply. It hurts his chest to do so, but his head feels slightly better by the action. He does it a few more times.

            “Good. You can do this Steve. You’re stronger than them.”

            What an odd thing to say. Of course he’s stronger than Ross. Ross is an old man and The Captain is enhanced.

            “Can you put your fist down?”

            The Captain tries to lower his fist. His arm screams in protest. It feels like he is attempting to break it just to move it. His fist remains up.

            “That’s okay. You stopped hitting me. That’s good. You’re doing really good buddy.”

            The target’s voice is soothing, and he thinks The Captain is doing good. The pain lessens slightly. He’s failing the mission, but he isn’t bad.

            “Remember when we first met, you kept lapping me during my morning run?” Target asks, and he’s smiling. It’s a really nice smile, even though his teeth stained red with blood. The Captain knows he has never interacted with the target before, but something about that sounds familiar.

            “You just kept shouting ‘on your left’ as you went by, like a jerk,” The target… Sam…continues.

 _On your left._ That sounds almost as familiar as the orders to be a Good Man. Memories of pre-dawn light and the smell of the city heavy in the air rapidly flash through The Captain’s mind with great intensity and pain.

            The Captain rolls off the couch, his breaths coming in irregular gasps. Sam running. Sam letting him into his home when there was no place else to go. Sam flying. Sam never leaving his side. Steve Rogers finally gets his breathing under control.

            They lay next to each other, Sam on the couch, and Steve on the ground for a few minutes. Steve’s face is wet with tears and sweat, which he hastily wipes away.

            “On your left.” Sam says, his voice sounding just slightly hysterical.

            Steve looks up. Sam looks terrible. His face is swollen, his nose is definitely broken, and he’s covered in blood. The sight makes Steve want to vomit, but he pushes that down.

            “Sam…I…”

            How can he even begin to apologize? What can he possibly say to make this right?

            “Just tell me who the bastards who did that to you are and why they wanted me dead, and I’ll call us even,” Sam says.

            “I almost killed you.”

            “Couldn’t do it though. Knew you’d miss this handsome face too much.”

            Steve wants to laugh, but he wants to cry more. He needs to get out of here. He needs to be very far away from Sam and his bloody face right now. Steve looks at his own hands. His knuckles are covered with blood. Sam’s blood. Steve stumbles to his feet. The door isn’t far away. He gets halfway. Then a hand with a surprising grip is on his sleeve, tugging him back.

            “Where do you think you’re going?” Sam asks.

            “I almost killed you,” Steve says pulling away.

            “Oh no you don’t. I already chased one depressed guilt-fueled super soldier around the world. I’m not doing that again.” Sam says firmly, pulling him back. Steve could resist. He could easily pull away, but he doesn’t want to hurt Sam again, and he’s so tired. Steve stops trying to leave. Instead he stands there useless and unsure.   

            Sam isn’t unsure though. He pulls Steve into a tight hug.

            “You’re not dead,” he mumbles into Steve’s shoulder and Steve isn’t sure if the wetness on his shirt is from blood or tears. Steve brings his arms up around Sam because that feels like the appropriate thing to do, even if he is a bit terrified to touch him at the moment. A few moments later they break apart.

            “Let me just clean up, then tell me everything that happened.”

            By the time Sam comes back from washing his face off Steve has moved to the kitchen. He hands Sam an icepack from the freezer, before moving to stand on the other side of the room. He’s not going to run away from Sam. He knows how bad that hurts and he’s not going to do that to him, but standing too close hurts too. Steve can’t bring himself to look at Sam’s face.

            Sam sits at the kitchen chair.

            “So tell me how you ended up doing a Winter Soldier impersonation in my living room.”

            Steve tells him everything starting with the conversation with Ross. His memories are a bit spotty, but he doesn’t gloss over the parts he does remember clearly. He recounts the way it felt to snap the ambassador’s wife’s neck and how to then immediately crush his throat with no remorse. He talks about seeing Tony there standing in the army base. Fear clear in his voice as he tries to snap Steve out of Ross’s control Then his memories go fuzzy. His voice trails off as he tries to remember what happened between seeing Tony there and being assigned to kill Sam. Static crackles in his mind every time he tries to fill in the blanks.

            “I’ve heard enough. Ross is an ass, but a persistent one. He’s going to figure out real soon that you failed your mission. We need to go,” Sam says, “but first, I need to make a phone call.”


	11. Phone Calls

            Natasha picks up on the second ring.

            “Hello.”

            “Hey, I have a mutual friend with me, thought you might want to say hello, because we have a favor to ask.”

            Sam doesn’t wait for her reply as he hands over the phone to Steve.

            “Hello? Natasha?” Steve says.

            There’s silence on the other end of the line, then the sounds of someone taking a few deep breaths.

            “Steve?”

            “Yeah, it’s me.” Steve smiles at the sound of her voice.

            “How?”

            There’s a sharp edge to her voice, an anger that breaks through her perpetual calm demeanor.

            “It’s a long story. Ross gave me the Winter Soldier treatment.” Steve says. He hopes she doesn’t ask for more details. Exhausted and emotionally drained, he’s not sure he’s up for repeating the story at the moment.

            There’s a long pause.

            “Put Sam back on,” she finally says, “and Steve…I’m glad you aren’t dead.”

            “Me too.”

            Steve hands the phone back to Sam. Steve doesn’t pay attention to Sam’s end of the conversation. It’s mostly just a series of “Yes,” “No,” and “He’s alive. He’s really alive.” By the end of the conversation there is a plan in place to meet at one of Clint’s safe houses. Natasha will contact Clint and Wanda who will meet them there. Natasha will arrive as soon as she can, although she can’t be sure when exactly that will be. Steve gets the impression that she isn’t anywhere near DC at the moment.

            “Let me grab a duffle bag and we can head out.” Sam says.

            “You don’t have to come,” Steve says.

            “Excuse me?” Sam says and from the tone of his voice and the slight raise of his eyebrow Steve knows he’s said the wrong thing. He hurries to correct it.

            “I just mean that getting mixed back up in my stuff is dangerous. You got out again and I don’t mean to keep pulling you back in,” Steve says, then adds, “and I tried to kill you less than an hour ago.”

            “Listen, Ross wanted me dead, and just because you failed doesn’t mean the next person they send will. We’re better off facing this together than trying to do this on our own,” Sam says, “and that wasn’t you, so stop with the kicked puppy look.”

            A tentative smile crosses Steve’s face, until he actually looks up and sees the swollen bruises on Sam’s face. The smile slips away.

            “Right…let’s move out,” Steve says quickly, turning away before Sam can make a comment.

            The trip to the safehouse is anti-climactic in a way. Every tailgating car could be a government operative tailing them. Pedestrians on the sidewalk all look hostile as if they know. Sam knows it’s probably just his paranoia talking, but that doesn’t stop him from flooring it when he sees a man in a dark suit running down the sidewalk. The man turns up his driveway and goes inside, Sam watching him from the rear view mirror. Despite knowing it was a false alarm it still takes a few blocks before Sam slows down to a more legal speed.

            They arrive at the safehouse four hours later. It would have been sooner, but Sam had to repeatedly go off on side roads to check that they weren’t being followed. The safehouse turns out to be a small inconspicuous looking brick house, with a squeaky front gate. Clint and Wanda are already there. Clint opens the door as they come up the drive.

            “Cap.”

            He says the word quietly, almost like a prayer. Natasha had informed him of the situation, but seeing the man, alive, was like a weight being lifted from his shoulders. Before he can say anything more, Wanda is ducking under his arm and running down the porch steps.

            “Steve!”

            She hugs him tightly, and after a few seconds he responds in kind.

            Clint quietly greets Sam. He opens his mouth to ask about the colorful assortment of bruises on his face but promptly closes it when Sam shakes his head with a quick glance in Steve’s direction. Wanda drags Steve inside, sitting him on the couch, before taking her place next to him. There’s a dark look on his face that Wanda has never seen before, and he still hasn’t looked anyone in the eye. The guilt and anguish she feels radiating from him is almost overpowering. He needs a distraction.

            Wanda grabs an old beat up box of monopoly from the front closet and holds it out to them. Some of the money is ripped and the thimble piece is missing.

            “I’m really not in the mood for games,” Steve says quietly, “I think I may just go to bed.”

            “It’s four in the afternoon Steve. We’re playing,” says Wanda and there’s a steel edge in her voice. It’s hard and commanding, with just a hint of desperation in it. Steve could push the issue, he truly is tired, but he feels that if he does it will only end in tears for somebody.

            “Ok,” Steve relents as Sam hands him the dog token. Nobody talks much during the game. Steve repeatedly catches himself gazing down the hallway towards the bedrooms. The others keep looking at him before guiltily glancing away when he catches them staring. It’s awkward and the silence is loaded with unspoken questions and explanations, but the quiet roll of the dice and general hum of the game is distracting him from the worst of his thoughts. An hour into the game Steve actually finds himself smiling briefly when Clint lands on Sam’s property and tries to negotiate a better deal. Wanda keeps the game moving with a forced cheerfulness that is admirable.

            The sudden slamming of the door has Steve and Sam on their feet in an instant. A knife is in Clint’s hand so fast Steve isn’t even sure where he got it from. He lowers the knife when Natasha stands in the doorway looking more tired than Steve has ever seen her. She crosses the room in three swift steps and pulls Steve into a quick hug.

            “I take it, none of you have been watching the news.” She says with a glance at the half finished board game.  She switches on the old television which hisses with static before the picture clears. Natasha puts on the news, and immediately the monopoly game is forgotten.

            A woman in a blue jacket stands outside the pentagon, microphone in hand. She reports with a solemn professional air that just barely masks the glee of a reporter on a career making scoop.

            “Secretary of Defense Thaddeus Ross stepped down this afternoon as videos of him allegedly torturing US prisoner Captain Rogers, more famously known as Captain America.”

            Video of Ross leaving his office, briefcase held up to hide his face from reporters, flashes across the screen.

            “Captain Rogers whereabouts are currently unknown. However in light of these recent videos The President has issued Captain Rogers a full presidential pardon and is asking him to come forward.”

            Steve watches as video of him in the chair plays next. He hadn’t even realized he had been being filmed. He carefully avoids looking at the others as they watch his body twitch and seize on screen. Phantom pain burns behind his eyes as he watches his own face twist in agony.

            “This is going to put an interesting twist on The Accords. Maybe King T’Challa will be able to make those changes after all.” Natasha says as the blue suited woman appears back on screen to finish her report.

            “How did they get this?” Steve finally asks as the news cuts to a commercial advertising cat litter.

            “Hmm, who do we know that can hack into top secret government records and would have absolutely no qualms with releasing classified information to the public?” Clint asks sarcastically, “It was definitely Tony.”

            Memories of Tony lying on cold cement, his face almost as bruised as Sam suddenly drift into Steve’s mind. At first Steve thinks he’s remembering Siberia, and his stomach clenches painfully. Then some of the memories become a little clearer, and he distinctly hears Ross’s voice encouraging him as he pounds on Tony’s face.

            “Damn,” Steve says standing up. The others give him curious looks.

            “I hurt Tony. Ross…Tony tried to snap me out of it…I beat him up pretty bad. I got to call him.”

            The words spill out hastily and guilt filled. Grabbing Clint’s burner phone off the arm of the couch Steve hurries into the kitchen for some privacy before the others can say anything. He knows Tony’s cell number. He has all the cell numbers of the Avengers memorized, despite Tony putting everybody into Steve’s phone and explaining that it wasn’t necessary to remember people’s phone numbers anymore. Steve had memorized them all anyway, mostly because for the first couple months he was always borrowing someone else’s phone to make a call because his had run out of batteries.

            However, Steve couldn’t bring himself to call it. Instead he dials the number to the burner phone that he doesn’t even know if Tony bothered to keep, if he even got it all. It rings. Steve expects it to go to voicemail and already has his message all planned out when there’s a click of someone picking up the phone.

            “Hello?” Tony’s voice sounds distant and small, but healthy and most importantly alive.

            “Tony,” Steve says in relief and surprise, fumbling over what to say next, having not actually planned for Tony to pick up.

            “Steve? Where are you? Are any of Ross’s people with you?” There’s a worry in Tony’s voice that works to calm and refocus Steve’s own jumbled thoughts.

            “I’m ok Tony. I’m with Sam and a few others. Nobody else knows where I am,” Steve says. He’s sure Tony can guess who the “others” are.

            “And are you…you?” Tony asks.

            “Yeah. Thank God. Sam…Sam really came through for me.”

            “Yeah sorry about that.”

            “About what?” Steve asks. He peeks out the door to the living room where the others are still watching the news, volume turned up just high enough to give Steve some privacy.

            “For not snapping you out of it. I tried, I really did.” Tony says.

            “That wasn’t your responsibility,” Steve says firmly, “how’s your face?”

            “Bruised. Nothing permanent. Nothing I didn’t deserve,” Tony says, and there’s a slight trace of bitterness in his tone that has Steve worried.

            “Tony!” Steve scolds.

            “It’s true. I let Ross do that to you and then I couldn’t save you. That deserves at least a beating.”

            “You didn’t ‘let’ Ross do anything.”

            “I still never should have gotten into bed with the likes of him. I’m sorry Steve.” Tony says quietly.

            “I know you were just trying to do what was right.”

            “Road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Tony says bitterly.

            "You released those videos didn’t you?” Steve says changing the subject, “That was brilliant, thanks.”

            “Least I could do.” Tony shrugs, though he knows Steve can’t see it, “You’re a free man again. What are you going to do? Besides presumably sit there in the front row and gloat at Ross’s future trial.”

            “I don’t know,” Steve answers honestly, “but whatever happens you know you can always call me.”

            “Sure Cap.” Tony says dismissively.

            “I mean that Tony. I’m taking a break right now. I got to get my brain all sorted out after…everything, but if something comes up…If the Avengers need to assemble. I’ll be there. I promise.”

             “I know Steve.”

            That sounded distinctly warmer.

            “I should probably get going. Sorry again for your face...” Steve says awkwardly.

            “I’ll be in touch.” Tony promises.

            Steve hangs up. Things aren’t perfect. Steve would hesitate to even classify things as good at the moment, but there’s a cheerful jingle for coffee playing on the television and a half-finished game of monopoly on the table and Steve definitely feels things are getting better. He rejoins Wanda and Sam on the couch. She leans her head against his shoulder and Sam’s elbow is poking him in the side, and for the moment ‘good’ doesn’t seem that far out of reach.


End file.
